


Free Rein

by unsettled



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Far From Home
Genre: Captivity, Collars, Conditioning, Consent Issues, Kinktober, M/M, Quentin Beck is Not a Good Guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: Things have been so much easier since Peter decided to try being good.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51
Collections: Unsettled's Kinktober 2020





	Free Rein

Things have been so much easier since Peter decided to try being good.

Not that Quentin is convinced it's sincere, at least not entirely. Peter's too stubborn for that, to give in so easily.

It's part of the appeal.

But it's been easier, for both of them. For Peter, mostly, but it's not like Quentin had really  _ wanted  _ to keep the shock collar on him. There are much prettier things to go around Peter's neck.

"Honey," he says, "come here."

Peter kneels so nicely for him now, even if he's still awkward about it; it's the thought that counts, the willingness to do it without a fight. The way Peter looks at him when Quentin raises his chin, nervous and careful and seething. The way Quentin knows that if he gave Peter half a chance, he'd try and run again. 

But for the moment, he kneels.

Quentin drops his hand from Peter's chin, dragging his fingers down Peter's neck and hooking them under his collar. "You've been doing so much better," he tells Peter, and fuck, it's fun the way Peter can't help the way he reacts to praise, even as he glares at Quentin. "Good enough to earn a little reward."

Peter's smart, too smart for his own good, so he knows to wary. Knows by now that Quentin's idea of a reward doesn't always match his.

"Hands," Quentin demands, and Peter's quick to obey. The cuffs he's wearing, thick and metal and heavy, are ugly; they leave marks on Peter's wrists, rub his skin raw and bleeding when he fights against them at all. If it wasn't for the way he heals, he'd have sores, have scars. 

Peter goes very, very still when Quentin takes them off, and it's all too obvious what he's thinking. He knows better, though. Knows perfectly well that the cuffs are only for Quentin's convenience, to keep Peter in place once Peter is too overwhelmed to keep still.

The cuffs Quentin replaces them with couldn't be more different. Soft, smooth leather, slightly padded, narrower than the metal cuffs. Almost exactly the width of the webshooters he'd pulled off Peter, ages ago, in fact. They're green, a dark, almost forest green, a shade or two richer than Mysterio's stupid laser show. He'd thought about blue, even red; thought about patterning them after the suit he'd stripped off Peter, thought of making Peter look at them every day and be reminded of what's been taken from him.

But in the end, red just isn't a good color on Peter. Blue's not bad, but green— green suits him.

Peter stares at them, biting his lip. Startles when Quentin tells him to stand, and startles again when Quentin slides off his seat, kneeling at Peter's feet to replace the cuffs around his ankles as well. He looks up at Peter, smirking, his hand wrapped around Peter's calf. "Much better," he says. "You're too pretty to leave in those ugly things."

He rubs his thumb over the back of Peter's knee, watching him think, watching that tiny blossom of hope; Peter has no way of knowing there's a special metal mesh between the layers of leather, just as strong and inescapable as the previous set. He'd be stupid to really believe Quentin wouldn't think of that, but Peter's still a little bit of a sucker, even after all these months under Quentin's care.

He hopes it's a while before Peter discovers that little surprise.

Quentin leans in and kisses the hollow of Peter's hip; he's lost weight since he came here, and Quentin likes the way it makes Peter seem even more deceptively fragile. Likes the way Peter still twitches away from his touch. He stands, letting his hands wander all over Peter, Peter shivering underneath them. Or maybe he's just cold; Quentin keeps things heated for his comfort, and Peter's complained before that it's not warm enough for someone not allowed clothes.

He stops shivering when Quentin puts his hands on the collar, stops breathing entirely for a moment, staring at Quentin with wide, hopeful eyes. Poor kid.

There's a moment, when the old collar is lying on the ground where Quentin's dropped it, the new one open in his hands, where he thinks Peter's going to behave very badly. Where Peter takes a breath, his body tensing, watching Quentin with an entirely different kind of intent. Quentin waits, not moving to catch him. Waits, watching Peter, giving him that opening. He raises an eyebrow when Peter darts a glance to the door behind him, and then back to Quentin, and Peter hesitates. Licks his lips, nervous, knowing something is wrong here, knowing there's no way Quentin would offer him this chance if he thought there was any possibility Peter would be able to escape. Knowing that if he tries, he'll only end up right back here, with everything worse than before, with everything he’s earned gone.

He closes his eyes and raises his chin a little higher.

Quentin can't help the grin that spreads across his face at that, the low laugh that escapes him. "So good, Peter," he says as he wraps the collar around Peter's neck, pulling it too tight before he backs off a notch and buckles it in place. It's very, very pretty on him.

"Now," he says as he threads the little padlock through the buckle's loops, listens to it click shut, "don't get any ideas, honey." He tips Peter's head to the side, nuzzles up against his neck, lips just brushing the top of Peter's collar. "Just because I prefer the way you look in these doesn't mean I won't go back to the others if you can't behave for me. Mmm?"

"I understand," Peter whispers, and when Quentin kisses him, he lets it happen. Participates, even, after a moment.

He doesn't understand, not really. Doesn't have a clue that he's put himself in this position now. Because there hadn't been any trick, hadn't been anything waiting to stop him if he'd decided to run once Quentin took the shock collar off. If he'd tried, if he'd wanted to, he could have left all of this behind.

But he didn't.

Quentin hooks his fingers in the ring on Peter's new collar, warm copper offsetting the green, a softer shine than silver or gold to compliment Peter's eyes. Tugs, and Peter comes to him easily, follows him easily as Quentin takes him back to bed. Stays in place, right where Quentin puts him, easily, even when Quentin fucks him hard enough to make the bed shake. Stays, tucked neatly along Quentin's side afterwards, giving in to the way Quentin holds him instead of the usual way he fights it, subtly, staying stiff and cold.

"Very pretty, honey," Quentin says, and even though he knows better than to think tears from Peter equals surrender— soon, very soon, he might be able to stop chaining Peter up at night.

After all, he thinks, tracing the line of Peter's collar, there's nothing keeping him here.


End file.
